PonyNoir
by Garnot
Summary: A Neo-Noir tale set in an alternate Equestria. Things aren't what they seem. Who can you trust in this brave new world?
1. Prologue

**PonyNoir**

**Written by: Garnot**

Scumbag: the most prolific term in my vocabulary was the word scumbag, and for good reason; almost everyone I meet in the streets nowadays is a scumbag. You're probably wondering what constitutes a scumbag. I couldn't tell you if I wanted to, but I don't need to; I know a scumbag when I see one, and the unicorn running away from me at this very moment constituted a grade-A example of what a real scumbag is. The filthy piece of scum ran - flying almost - as I pursued him, pistol levitating near my head in a soft, dark colored glow. He sure ran fast for someone who had just had a bullet pierce his hind-leg; but I had grown accustomed to this sight, as it had played out in the same form for more times that I dared count. His ragged red robes undermined just how dangerous this scumbag was, and this one was as vile as you could get; a filly raping, mass murdering, cannibal cultist piece of filth who was mere seconds away from having his brains become part of the pavement.

At least, that's what I imagined happening, but something told me this one had some important last words, so I refrained from blowing his head off, instead watching for any other opportunities to strike.

The cultist nearly collapsed from exhaustion and pain, finally standing on his rear legs to grab to a wall with his tattered hoof; the perfect opportunity to shoot. I aimed at his now fully exposed back and pulled the trigger. The gun's kick would have been more than a match for even the strongest stallion, or any other male of any other race for that matter, but that was one of the beauties of being a unicorn; magic made it possible to shoot such hand cannons effectively - and as we all know - magic is quite the handy tool to have when the whole world is bearing down on you. I took aim My weapon - a modified ebony-colored peacekeeper revolver I had nicknamed 'Negotiator' which fired .44 caliber death dealer - blew a two inch wide hole in the left side of the cultist's back; I could almost see his still beating heart through what remained of his exposed ribcage.

He tripped on his own legs, stumbling to the left, right through a pane of glass that some kind Samaritan had left lying around just for him to shatter.

Seeing that the cultist was down for the count, I holstered my gun and walked over to the broken remains of yet another soon-to-be-dead piece of trash. He kicked and struggled as he dragged his sorry rear over the shards of broken glass. I was actually amazed at both the damage of my attack, and the fact that the cultist was still kicking. I almost felt pity for the piece of scum, but criminals of his caliber deserve neither pity nor mercy. He gasped and wheezed.

As I stood over his soon-to-be corpse, he began to laugh, cackling like some demented psychopath, gargling his next words: "Kill me you may… but none can stop its arrival. It comes, past the walls of reality, past the walls of sanity; it does not forget; it does not forgive…"

The cultist suddenly produced a small sawed-off shotgun seemingly out of thin air, clicking the hammers into place and continuing his maddened laughter. My eyes widened, hairs standing on end. I reached for Negotiator, but the cultist had already aimed the weapon at my head.

Too slow; I was too damn slow…

I closed my eyes, stepping back by instinctively, knowing full well it wouldn't do a damn thing to save my sorry rear; my head was about to be blown into a red paste. I grit my teeth, anger sweltering inside me. _"Should have blown the scumbag's head off when I had the chance!"_ I raged at myself.

The cultist pulled the trigger, hammers striking the shells in a fraction of a second, followed by a loud explosion. The sound of a wet bag being crushed by a pair of hands; the sickening noise of breaking bones and snapping tendons and the wet snapping of a water balloon when it pops on a hard surface: all of these sounds berated my ears, but it hadn't come from me. I was still alive.

I opened my eyes and faced what was left of the cultist. His head was no more, having become little more than a new coat of paint on the glass and walls around him. Pieces of skull were scattered every which way, likely on my as well. His body was still rigid, but it soon slumped over, blood flowing from the stump that was his neck like an overturned milk carton.

I sighed, holstering my weapon a second time. I looked at my reflection in one of the still intact glass panes, and sure enough, I was covered head to hoof in blood and pieces of skull and brain. I used my magic to lift all the liquid and body bits off my duster, coat, and hair. I rolled it all up into a nice little sphere, floated the ball of gore on top of the cultist's corpse and threw it, drenching his already filthy robes with even more filth. I looked around; a large crowd had quickly begun to gather around the scene: colts, mares, fillies and an occasional griffon or two were all looking at the scene with a wide mix of emotions as varied as a rainbow. Some displayed fear and revulsion, others wonder and excitement, but most simply didn't care or simply didn't choose to display sentiment, looking on with empty gazes; the chilling result of ten years of senseless violence just like this.

As I looked at the scene, I could relate to those who no longer wished to display emotions; I myself had long ago lost all sense of feeling. Looking up at the dark sky, I couldn't help but feel the hole where my heart had once rested become wider, taking up more and more of chest, becoming an even wider and deeper hole than it already was. Some part of me, likely my sense of reason and morality, told me the only sensible response to these feelings of emptiness was to cry. Tears, however, would do nothing. Tears wouldn't stop the murders, tears wouldn't stop the rapist; they wouldn't wash away the blood that had coagulated in the gutters and sewers after who knows how many dead bodies had rested on the pavement: they would do absolutely nothing.

And yet…

Tears; tears were precious, more so than all the riches in the world combined. Tears represented the only sign of sensibility left in this hellhole of an existence. Tears represented innocence lost so long ago.

Soon the crowds dispersed; some took pictures, other talked about the horrid scene. Most simply kept to themselves. I stood over the dead cultist, stiff like a statue.

I wanted to hate this cultist, this mass murdering, filly raping scumbag, but aside from his crimes - which were unforgivable in their own right - I had no reason to hate this unicorn, no reason to jeer and scorn at his now lifeless body. For all I knew, maybe he hadn't even raped a filly or killed an innocent mare; maybe this cultist had been an initiate - a kid who sought power above all else - brainwashed into becoming yet another disposable pawn in a sick game of chess.

I wanted to hate the dead cultist, but I knew damn well that it wasn't him who I actually hated; it was that twisted reflection of who I was becoming that I hated more than anything else…

Loud sirens rang in the night; the police were here; likely come to clean up the mess Negotiator and I had caused. They arrived in their fancy armored cars, stepping out to take the glory of the kill all for themselves. Their white and blue riot gear did nothing to hide their true nature; most were cowards at best, corrupt scumbags at worst, years of brutality and senseless violence having changed them into something they originally couldn't have imagined. Money, greed, power: all of these turn the rookies -who always came into the force eager to clean up the city – into apathetic equines out to serve only themselves. They could have the kill, they could take the credit; I didn't care anymore.

I stepped out of the way and let them tape up the scene. They went through the usual motions, gathering evidence and questioning me about the incident. They asked me why I had blown the equine's head off, to which I replied that he had done it himself either due to brainwashing or because he wanted to send a grisly last message.

The officers scoffed in open ridicule, but wrote it down anyway. They told me they would take care of the mess, and congratulated me on another flawless take-down. They offered me some cash, likely dirty money from a large, violent drug bust or sale, possibly some gang related extermination, or even perhaps a weapons sale. Either way, the money was foul, and I refused to take it, instead telling them to add the REAL reward to my account, which they already knew by heart. They always gave me this dirty look, as if I was too noble or misguided to be around them, but they kept their mouths shut, never speaking a single word of contempt.

The police finished cleaning up the scene, leaving it cleaner than it had been before. They took their tape, the body, and left the scene just as quickly as they had come. I looked again at the spot where the cultist had taken his own life; yet another spot out of thousands where someone had died.

I turned around and headed back to my office - which also happened to be my apartment - feeling no better about myself or what I had done.

This city; it was rotting me away from the inside out.

My name is Bogart Maltese, a charcoal-coated and azure – gray maned unicorn born in a far away country I can no longer remember. When on duty, I wear black and grey riot gear similar to the one once worn by Civil Protection soldiers on top of which I sported a weathered brown duster that had at one point had been my partner's. Not exactly the standard issue uniform, but it doesn't matter anyway; as a high ranking Regulator officer working in the city of Manehattan, I can wear whatever I want and shoot whoever I want provided I submit the correct paperwork at the end of the day. Despite this 'license to kill', I am no murderer, nor am I a crazed gunman; I was not like the corrupt police officers that patrolled Manehattan's streets 24/7. I hunt down the filth that is slowly chocking the life from this city rather than nourish it and help it propagate further. Just the thought of so much corruption in plain sight made me sick to my stomach. Despite this, my desire to clean the streets was kept in check by the harsh reality that I am but one Equine in a large city full of vice and sin. I am but one Equine fighting a losing battle.

As I continued walking down the dark streets, memories I had believed forgotten slowly stirred back to life within the dark recesses of my mind. Most of these memories pertained to painful events long past, back to a more savage time when fires raged and chaos was rampant. As always, these events began when everything was happy, peaceful, and most importantly, innocent…

**PROLOGUE: THE FALL OF A NATION**

Equestria: a land shared by 3 equine races: pegasi, unicorn, and earthen pony. A beautiful country that had seemingly always been at peace. Everything was as sweet as syrup, rainbows and all floating in the air; it made you want to reach for insulin. It was a time when crime was nonexistent and corruption was unheard of; a time when love and tolerance were commonplace and endorsed above all else; a time when the equines of this nation, under the caring rule of Princesses Celestia and Luna, had lived in relative harmony, keeping everypony safe whether during the day or at night. Loving and accepting love, giving without ever expecting anything in return, and enjoying an unbreakable bond with nature and life as a whole. It was a time when every last living Equine was confident that their way of life would remain the same forever.

It was these reasons above all others that made the wake-up call truly tumultuous.

On a cold night ten years ago, when the moon was at its fullest and all the stars in the sky were clear and bright, Princess Celestia and Princess Luna vanished without a trace. Days passed, but all search parties returned with empty hooves. The princesses had vanished from the face of the planet, leaving no trail – physical or magical – to follows. Many began preaching that the disappearance of the celestial sisters foretold the end of Equestria; others even went as far as to declare the end of the world. Those that kept their heads however quickly came to realize that it was not the end of the world: the sun and the moon still rose and set, plants still grew, and prospered, animals still roamed the land and magic was still available to all who could use it.

As the citizenry wept, those in power quickly organized themselves in hopes of restoring order so that it would favor their plans for dominance. It wasn't long before talks of a new government were brought up; many an old pony wished to appoint a ruler similar to Celestia and Luna to oversee the country as a whole. The motion was quickly defeated.

Others proposed that some form of council be set up to make all the decisions laws for Equestria as a whole. That motion didn't fare any better.

No pony in power could come up with a viable solution, instead choosing to argue and bicker like children. This went on for months, while the country's infrastructure steadily fell apart. Order broke down in the metropolitan areas first, swiftly followed by the countryside. Bands of panicked Equines pillaged all they could get their hoofs on in an attempt to ride out the storm that was surely to come. The deterioration became so overwhelming that Equestria's royal guards, the only group that had taken on the responsibility of keeping peace and order, found themselves quickly overwhelmed by the chaos. With little choice, the head of the guards contacted the griffons for aid.

Now, the griffons weren't that much of a trusted society; their war – like culture and their rather unsettling taste for equine flesh made sure of that. The griffons however, were widely known for keeping their vows of honor. A griffon that made a promise would gladly claw their way out of the depths of hell if it meant keeping said promise. Intact, and it just so happened that the griffon emperor – Crissaegrim – had bowed to 'protect and come to the aid of Equestria should it ever need such aid'. True to their bow, the griffons answered the call, providing troops to help quell the riots and pillaging.

Another unexpected ally to suddenly pledge its aid was the Human Federation. Just like the griffons, the humans were seen as war – like race not to be fully trusted, mostly because of the constant self – destructive wars the humans waged, but also because of their innate lack of magic. But even without the ability to harness magic naturally (humans who could manipulate arcane forces were often called wizards and alchemists and required years of hard practice and the use of mystical items) none doubted the technological marvels humanity possessed.

Though the humans promised aid, they were unable to spare much manpower, choosing to provide tons upon tons of food and medical supplies instead. So many supplies the humans provided, the royal guards were greatly overstocked at first, but the supplies quickly begun to grow thin in the coming months; open conflict and a full scale revolution begun to erupt all over the country as the citizens, feeling betrayed by the indecisive leaders, set ablaze the great revolution.

True to their vows of non – interference in civil matters, the royal guards stayed out of the conflict, as did the griffon forces loyal to Equestria. Unable to fight, the two groups instead of focused on creating safe heavens for the refuges. One such refugee camp – and the largest out of them all – was set up in Ponyville, a town located right in the middle of Equestria.

The war was waged by everyday ponies against troops loyal to the Regime. What followed was five years of unimaginable chaos, destruction, and death. All the happiness and tolerance that was once preached broke down, giving way to hate and division, creating scars that have yet to heal.

When the flames of war finally burned themselves out, the horrible aftermath greeted those who had survived. What little hope of a brighter future that escaped the war untouched quickly shriveled up and died, becoming nothing more than ash in the wind.

Equestria, now completely leaderless with its people entirely hopeless, came close to total breakdown. Equines who had once believe they could ride out the horrors of war quickly began to move away to neighboring countries, never to be seen or heard from again. It was at this time, when all hope seemed lost, that history took a new turn.

A mysterious Equine suddenly appeared from the shadows, carrying with him a power not seen for over five years. This equine, who called himself Fifth, took the reigns as the new ruler of Equestria – a rule no one questioned for he bore the same divine marks as Celestia and Luna. He had a larger body than the average equine, a brightly shining horn of power, a set of magnificent wings, a mane of lighting that almost outshone the stars in the sky, and a mark on his flank and chest: that of the moon and the sun mixed into one silvery orb.

Fifth, taking the role of commander-in-chief, mobilized his personal army of Equines; ponies, unicorns, pegasi, and kirins – equines who hailed from the far east – sporting silver or blue-white coats, white crackling manes, and a large, sharp horn which allowed them to control lighting at will. This army used modified Human weapons and armor – armaments once believed to be known to the humans alone.

I myself had at one point wielded a human armament – a gauss rifle to be more precise. I also wore a modified set of armor once used by human police: riot gear. The humans knew how to make weapons of the finest quality and lethality. It made me glad they were on our side as well.

The advanced weapons, superior tactics and near unstoppable war machines Fifth's armies possessed at their disposal gave them the upper hand in every conceivable way. Within weeks, peace was once again restored throughout Equestria, all traces of rebellion and dissent quickly disappearing.

In order to prevent further outbreaks of violence, Fifth personally ordered the creation of a security force to serve solely as the hammer of justice in Equestria. The royal guards, once under the servitude of Celestia and Luna, were chosen as the best candidates for this mission. Their leader, supreme commander Hagar Finn, an old and weathered pegasus – kirin hybrid nearly twice the size of a pony, bearing a gray – blue coat and a lion – like mane that glowed white hot due to his kirin ancestry stepped forth into the vanguard of Equestria's future. He offered his services for the safety and peace of his homeland. This new enclave was to operate as judge, jury, and executioner; acting entirely autonomous of any established organization, including Fifth's own rule. Their oath was "to hunt down corruption and villainy is our goal; one that we will accomplish till death take us all."

And thus the Regulators, under Hagar's command, were born. Sporting white exoskeletal armor and the same advanced weapons Fifth's armies had used. They went about stomping out crime and villainy with an iron hoof. Soon, many came to call them tyrants, others heroes, but to the majority, they were simply 'judges.'

Within a month, the first batch of newly trained recruits hit the streets of all major regions. For a time hope seemed to be on the rise as everyone dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could go back to the way they had been when Celestia and Luna ruled.

But the dream was just that – a dream. Crime continued its steady incline. Paramilitary groups – all of whom vied for control over Equestria's many natural and militarist resources – began to appear in every major city and town. Corruption became more and more noticeable with each passing day.

Walking down the street, I saw many things, things that reminded me of good times and bad times. The park to my right of course brought about images of fillies playing, carefree and gay.

It also brought about images of bums and junkies going about their drug trips.

The drug store to my left brought about images of a caring shopkeeper handing out free soda and candy on weekends.

It also brought about images of a violent crime scene, that same shopkeeper gunned down by some crazed lunatic.

Equestria still had many hurdles to overcome, but despite the challenges and the suffering in between, Fifth's empire slowly continued to flourish, bringing back the old Equestria bit by bit. But this small ray of hope did nothing to clear the darkness that had blanketed Equestria after the war. No longer was love and tolerance preached by the populace, only caution and paranoia. Ponies went about their lives, caring little about others, choosing to ignore the world as a whole. Emotions became almost taboo, and hope became little more than a fairytale from days long gone. Criminals still ruled the streets, and despite the Regulator's efforts to stomp warlords and Mafiosi, crime always found a way to flourish. These problems however were only the tip of the iceberg. A new evil, ancient and cryptic, slowly crept from its dark hole to overtake the cities and towns; it created fear and brought forth death. This new organization, calling itself "Aun Tau Nix Kruxado" or 'Cult' for short, declared an unspoken war on the Regulators and all forces of order, painting the streets red with the blood of the innocent.

Despite these problems and the fact that everyone tried their absolute hardest in those early days, the death toll needed to maintain peace and order proved daunting.

Those still loyal to the original cause of the Regulators endured with whatever willpower they still carried within them; but willpower can only get one so far…

My willpower was officially beaten out of me the day my partner was murdered.

It had been a rather rough night; our unit had just taken down an entire group of red robed psychopaths, the 'Cult' everypony feared so much. The battle had been bloody, half of our unit being wiped out by the group, all who attacked with little concern about their own welfare, chanting in an unknown, twisted language. Despite the heavy losses, we ended up securing the warehouse which served as their hideout. What we found inside, however, proved too much for many of us to bear. Bodies everywhere; hung up by hooks, wires and all manner of improvised tools and contraptions. Half-eaten corpses lined the floors and walls; a freezer was stuffed to the brim with body parts from all conceivable races. They were fulfilling sick and twisted fetishes using flesh and bone.

Many of us emptied our guts right then and there. The sights I saw that night lingered in my mind for months to come. I was glad my partner had decided to stay at the office to get some paperwork finished; his gut was not on the strong side.

Our unit called for backup and started the daunting task of cleaning up the building, but many just couldn't bring themselves to go back into the warehouse. Hagar himself showed up, and was just as repulsed and horrified as many of the other troops. Unable to stand the sight of the now hellish warehouse, he decided to torch it, a funeral pyre for the innocent who had been butchered.

Unable to maintain my attentiveness any longer, I asked permission to leave, which Hagar granted. I got in my vehicle and drove back to the office, wanting nothing more than a cold shower and a long night's rest.

But as soon as I opened the door, I came face to face with another nightmare.

My partner had been pinned to the ceiling using rusty railroad nails. His entrails had been ripped out of his abdomen violently and spread over the floor in intricate patterns that evoked images of evil rituals. On the wall was a message, written in the blood that had once flowed through his veins: _"Kill a man; one is a murderer. Kill thousands; one is a conqueror. Kill them all; one is a god."_

For the second time that night, I puked with little control, screaming in horror so loudly that I lost my voice for a few days.

After the funeral was over, I dedicated myself to finding those responsible for his murder. I promised myself to, "Hunt down the ones responsible for his death. I'll hunt them all down and end them once and for all – for his sake; for everypony's sake."

Ten years have passed since Princess Celestia and Princess Luna disappeared, leaving us all to fend for ourselves in this brave new world.

Five years have now passed since the Regulators' formation, and we have made almost no progress in destroying the Cult. Crime remains just as rampant as before, and the populace still remains as hopeless and uncaring as ever.

Two years have passed since my partner's murder, and I still have nothing to show for all my work.

I sighed in hopelessness; nothing to do but head over to the office, put t more clues together, try and piece together this incomplete puzzle, and bang my head against the wall in frustration, just like I have done for the last two years…

This was going to be a very long night…

Suddenly, a car pulled up next to me; it was a Regulator's car, and a nicely armored one at that. I stopped in my tracks, knowing full well who was behind the wheel.

The door opened and out stepped Hagar Finn, the only truly righteous stallion left in this city. His mane was starting to age, graying here and there, almost devoid of the fire glow it had once bared. What could be seen of his coat trough the heavy trench coat he wore still retained its silvery blue sheen from days long gone however, hinting that perhaps he wasn't getting as old as I had originally assumed. He smiled at me, stepping out of his car. "Long time no see Bogart," he said in a soft yet stern voice that carried with it the wisdom and courage that this city lacked, "Heard you've been keeping busy chasing cultists and all manner of lowlifes."

"Yes sir," I said with forced resentment. "Come to try and give me a more appropriate assignment?" I asked, full well knowing he would say no.

I held nothing but respect for the old stallion, but when I had made my choice to leave the main force to work solo, Hagar had scorned it, calling it foolish and dangerous. Hagar of course had been wholly correct, but my desire for retribution at the time had been so intense, instead of taking his words as the absolute truth, I had screamed and cursed, calling him all manner of ill, non-deserving names that I still felt shameful for using.

Now, as the old Stallion stood before me, I wanted nothing more than to apologize for the things I had once said, but I didn't know how to do it, so I instead feigned resentment, if only to cover up how pathetically lost I felt.

"Actually, I've come to lend you a helping hoof," Hagar said, smiling with all the self confidence of a war hero. "Come, I'll drive you back to your office; maybe get some coffee on the way."

"Coffee would be nice," I said with a slight smile. I got into Hagar's passenger seat and fastened my seat – belt. He drove off rather quickly, keeping his eyes wholly on the road ahead.

"I did some digging around," Hagar started, eyes never parting from the road, "And I believe I've found something that might interest you." He motioned to his glove compartment. I opened it and pulled out a file; it was rather thin, almost as if it bore absolutely nothing.

"Sorry if the file is shorter than the ones you are used to going through; not much information to be dug up these days it would seem. Criminals are getting smarter about covering their tracks."

"Any new information is good information," I said, opening the file and reading its contents. I felt the car pull over once again, glancing to the side with my peripheral vision. It was a coffee shop, crowded with many young fillies and colts enjoying the last few hours of their night before it became too dangerous to roam outside.

Hagar stepped out of his car and prodded my shoulder. "What are you having?" he asked. I looked at him, mulling over my coffee options. "Something strong, lots of sugar and cream and oh yeah; ask the clerk if she can mix some chocolate into the bottom of the cup."

"Alright, I'll be back in a few minutes." Hagar said as he closed his door and walked into the coffee shop, where he was immediately assaulted by a large group of young colts who had undoubtedly recognized him as Hagar Finn, war hero and supreme 'judge' of the Regulators. I half laughed at his predicament, but then returned my full attention to the files Hagar had compiled.

Minutes later, Hagar stepped into his car, two cups of hot coffee in his hooves. He handed me my special order and warned me to be careful. I took a sip and smiled; the coffee would allow me to stay up a little later.

Hagar turned the car's engine on and we drove off again. By the time we reached my office, I had re-read the files Hagar had collected about five times, and despite the information being clear, what it pertained to was anything but.

Hagar pulled into the garage and. turned over his car's engine "So," he said as he took a sip of his coffee, a very strong, almost mud-like black brew, "Anything in that file relevant to you?"

"Yes," I told him, taking a sip of my now warm coffee, "Useful, but not very helpful." I opened the files and read a small excerpt of the research notes:

_"Cultists are known to attack random victims in the streets, using the blood of the murder as a means of sending cryptic messages to the authorities. It is not unheard of, however, for carefully planned executions to take place, usually as a means to put pressure on certain groups or eliminate potentially dangerous opposition before it becomes a threat."_I took a sip of coffee._ "Out of all murder cases, two stand out as particularly chilling in their method of execution and potential endgame. The first, the murder of a Regulator operative whose name has been withdrawn until full investigation is complete." _I looked at Hagar. "My partner's murder no doubt." I sipped my coffee yet again and continued reading. _"The other incident being the murder of a family of rock farmers near the town of Stalliongrad about five months prior to this report. The family murdered did not have any previously known affiliations, prompting many to believe that it was another random murder. However evidence surfaced that the family had been part of the Cult at some point but had left for unexplained reason, suggesting the murders to be retaliatory in nature."_ I stopped reading, putting the file down. "Both of these cases I already knew about, though the information pertaining to the second set of victims, particularly the fact that they had been Cult members, is new." I took a large swig of the coffee this time. "But the second little tidbit of information you placed on here is what caught my eye the most: that out of the rock farmer family deaths, there had been a lone survivor. But the files only mention her gender, nothing else. No mention of her appearance or even how old she was at the time. The files simply stop at a single phrase: 'Ponyville'."

"That's right Bogart," Hagar said with a frown, "That was the only real piece of concrete information I could dig up." He took a swig of his coffee. "This girl, she likely moved to this village to start anew or at the very least, passed by the town. If she did settle there, she probably has a new identity by now."

"Well, if that is the case, then Ponyville is where I need to go next." I handed the file back to Hagar, who merely shook his head. "Keep it," he told me with a smile, "I'm sure you'll want to re-read that file in more detail."

"Very well, I'll keep them with me." I opened the passenger door and stepped out. "I'll start packing my things; I leave for Ponyville in the morning."

"Good luck Bogart. Oh, and one more thing," he took one final swig of his coffee, emptying the cup in one gulp. "Be very careful about this case; I get the feeling you are digging to a dark place. You may not like what you end up discovering." He turned on his car's engine and managed a broad smile. "I better get back to HQ; somepony's probably freaking out about my disappearance by now."

I closed the passenger door and saluted Hagar as he pulled out of the parking lot and drove off into the night.

I again looked at the files in my hoof and truthfully smiled for the first time in quite a while. I finally had the break I had been looking for all this time. Now, it was just a matter of time before I got some real answers.

My next destination was Ponyville.


	2. The Chosen: Part One

Ponyville was a medium-sized trade town located almost in the middle of Equestria with routes going through it to nearly all corners of the nation. More west than north of Ponyville lay Canterlot, the largest city in Equestria and capital of the nation. The most noticeable features of Canterlot were the ancient gigantic castle built in ages long past before Celestia and Luna's rule, and the massive airports that had been added to the cliff side city. Airships of all types constantly loaded and unloaded at the ports, bringing goods from all corners of the planet.

To the southwest of Ponyville was an expanse of near-impenetrable woodlands: the Everfree Forest, said to be the dwelling place of many monstrosities and secrets from ages long forgotten stretching back to the reign of the Zeborites, who had lived almost ten thousand years ago before being wiped out by an unknown catastrophe. The Everfree Forest was a place where even the bravest dared not tread. The few that did so were monster hunters and alchemists in search of new ingredients to harvest.

South of Ponyville was Hoofington, a small town roughly the size of Cloudsdale, which itself lied northwest of Ponyville. I didn't know much about the place other than it was home to some of the world's best magicians and illusionists. From what I've read, the town was the birthplace of Trixie Solaris, adoptive daughter of Celestia Solaris, at the time, the most powerful non-divine being in the world. What became of her has never been resolved, as she vanished alongside Luna and another of Celestia's closest aides; a young unicorn named Twilight Sparkle.

To the northwest lay Stalliongrad, the 'hive of scum and villainy' of Equestria. A town completely operated by the Flutter mafia and the Stooped Necromancers. The town was a Regulator's worst nightmare yet, against all common sense, Stalliongrad had earned a reputation for being one of the safest places left in Equestria outside of Canterlot. The heads of the town council, all of whom had close ties to both the Flutters and the Necromancers, kept the streets secure, with the undisputed head of council, Don Flutter – daughter of Don Rosalino and current head of the Flutters – taking a personal role in keeping 'her' streets as safe and as orderly as organized crime went, which spoke volumes, considering the sheer barbarism of the cultists and petty thugs. A rumor has it that Don Flutter rules Stalliongrad with the same iron-hoofed justice as her father, mixed with the care and tenderness of her mother. Many citizens of the town consider her a saint.

Finally, to the west of Ponyville lay Manehattan, my hometown, the big rotten apple itself. It took about four hours to get from Manehattan to Ponyville, four hours I had tried to use to catch up on some much needed rest, but despite my best efforts, sleep was just something my body refused. For the last hour of the trip, I decided to catch up on some reading. 'The Adventures of Captain Baseball Bat Boy,' an import comic from the human federation, had always been my favorite graphic novel, even if it dealt with a hyperactive human kid who solved his problems by whacking heads with a baseball bat. It was a guilty pleasure, and one that at least kept my head away from undesirable thoughts, like the daunting task of questioning an entire town about a pony whose name, age, and color I didn't even know.

In this issue, Captain Baseball Bat Boy was up against his most dangerous nemesis, the nefarious Maxwell's Demon and his army, the freaking zombie demons from outer space. It was good stuff, and it sure made the last hour of the trip bearable.

The train slowed down as my station was called through the ancient loudspeakers. I gathered up my belongings, all of which I had miraculously managed to fit into a bag no bigger than my torso, and stepped towards the door. I looked at my watch; it was little past nine in the morning. I took a deep breath of fresh air and prepared to disembark.

**PonyNoir**

**The Chosen- ****Part One**

Well, here I am, Ponyville… It's a lot more colorful than I had expected. The town was almost entirely made up of mares and fillies, very few stallions to be seen or heard. The houses were colorful, the shops were colorful, even the ground seemed colorful; it's as if I had stepped into some kind of children's book, and was now part of the story. As I walked, mares and fillies gave me clear looks of curiosity and excitement; every gaze seemed to study me from head to toe, as If I was the first 'real' male they had laid eyes on for who knows how many years. This behavior made me feel at odds with the populace. I wasn't entirely sure if I was just that easy to tell apart, which was likely a given, considering my habit of walking in a bipedal fashion rather than on all fours. I found it made it not only easier to carry things around, it allowed me easy access to my gun, Negotiator, should the need ever arise.

Bipedal walking had been an almost exclusively human behavior before the war, as equines of the time hadn't needed to use complicated tools or weaponry. Once the war began, soldiers were forced to get acquainted with walking upright in order to use firearms more effectively. Equine bodies – while quadruped by nature – could achieve bipedalism. The spine was almost in the same position and the arms and legs ended in ball joints that allowed circular limb motion. It wasn't a skill one developed overnight however; it took weeks of practice, but once mastered, bipedalism stayed with you till the day you died. An equine that almost exclusively walked in a bipedal fashion was often marked as a soldier or Regulator, as the two were the only ones trained in the use of advanced human weaponry such as laser and Gauss weapons, which were the mainstay of human/equestrian defense. Many equines, including soldiers and Regulators, still preferred walking on all fours, if only to remind themselves they were still ponies and not humans.

From what I witnessed firsthand during the Great Cleansing, griffons were also capable of bipedalism. The griffons however, didn't wielded advanced human firearms like the Equestrian militry or the Regulators, but their own set of armaments which hearkened back to a more primitive time in their history. Griffons preferred to get up close and personal when it came to fighting, and unlike equines and humans, they could afford to fight hand – to – hand; their natural mastery of both sky and ground, coupled with their ferocious nature, superior endurance, and the newest innovations in armor and melee – based combat made them formidable opponents. Stories circulated around HQ of how a griffon could supposedly shrug off a fully charged blast from a gauss rifle; an attack that would normally cleave and eviscerate an equine and reduce a human to nothing more than fine red paste. This was of course, a rumor, but it had some validity to it; griffon carcasses were quite durable, but weren't indestructible.

Griffons were furious on the battlefield, often taking on armies twice their size and winning with few to no casualties.

Scary stuff; All the more a reason why I am glad they are on our side.

As I kept on walking, I couldn't help but frown; there must be hundreds of ponies living in this town; how was I ever going to ask them all about my lead? I couldn't interrogate every single one; that would take weeks, if not months. I sighed, closing my eyes for just a second to try and come up with a feasible solution. Maybe if I set up a small office here? How about hiring some assistants? No, that would take lots of time and lots of money. I needed to find a nice quiet place to think this through…

I turned to head down the street when I suddenly bumped into somepony, knocking us both to the ground. I landed face first, eating some dirt in the process. I shook my head, quickly standing and looking at the culprit. I was ready to utter some rather nasty words, but I stopped dead in my tracks when I realized who I was dealing with.

She was a pink earth pony, her hair and tail were puffs of magenta that looked more like cotton candy than a mane. She seemed young, no older than seventeen or eighteen, and smelled of pastry and sarsaparilla. On her rear was a mark of three party balloons-two blue and one yellow. On her tail was…a small alligator? Yeah, it was a small alligator; green scaly skin, azure eyes each looking in a different direction, aimlessly and randomly, and its mouth entirely devoid of teeth; nothing but its pink gums seemed to be present.

The pink pony, who seemed to be unharmed, quickly recovered from her fall, hopping on her feet before I could even say a word. She shook her head and smiled at me, taking one long look at me. As she did, her smile seemed to widen, her bluish cyan eyes widening to proportions I hadn't thought possible on any living creature. She suddenly jumped up in the air, gasping loudly for what seemed like a minute straight before zooming away at an impossibly fast pace, not once touching the ground, until she was out of sight, leaving behind nothing but the rather enjoyable aroma of cupcakes.

I stood there, shaking my head in an attempt to make sense of what I had just seen. "That was weird," I found myself saying out loud. Maybe I had imagined the encounter, or maybe I had run into some new kind of equine. I didn't know for certain, and I sure wasn't about to waste valuable brain cells trying to figure it out; I had other priorities.

I picked up my bag and continued on my way. A minute hadn't even passed before I was knocked to the ground yet again, this time by a young mare. She had a creamy off – white coat, indigo hair carefully fashioned into curls, and three shining diamond marks on her rump. She skidded to a stop and looked back at me, her face clearly showing remorse.

I grunted, picking myself up once again. I looked at my outfit which was stained with mud and grass. I tried to shake it clean, but the mud wouldn't come off, not even with magic. I looked at the pony, ready to utter some kind of obscenity, but upon laying eyes on the mare, my words vanished as I felt my heart skip a beat.

This mare – a unicorn – she was the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes on. Her mane was radiant with a life of its own, while her eyes seemed capable of peering into one's own soul. Her lips were rosy and fresh, her coat vibrant and clearly well taken care of; an angel who came down from the heavens in these dark times.

She walked up to me, eyes guilt ridden. "Are you alright darling?" she asked in a voice full of sophistication and proper manners. "I didn't mean to knock you on the floor like that, and now look at you! So filthy and unkempt!" She eyed my getup. She had a scowl on her face. "Oh, look at you! That duster, so ancient and worn! And that armor! Are those bullet holes I see? And is that dried blood? My word! That armor is far too light for someone like you to wear!" she suddenly grabbed me by the neck of my duster. "You just must come with me darling! There is so much that needs to be done about that getup!"

"What?" I managed to utter before I found myself being dragged by the pony, who was surprisingly strong considering her size. I barely managed to get my bag floating behind me as the mare took me deeper into the town, past the shops and the marketplace and into what I could only describe as the upper quarter, where all manner of well dressed ponies roamed the streets. As I looked about, I saw what appeared to be a carousel come into sight, a large, purple-colored carousel that seemed out of place in this area of small mansions and estates.

The mare opened her door magically and stopped dragging me the moment we entered. As I looked around, I saw hundreds of dresses, all either in the process of completion, or altogether finished. But there weren't just dresses; there were also suits, gowns, jackets, trench coats, and dusters of all styles

"Okay darling," the pony said in a soft manner, "I need you to take off all that you're wearing."

"What?" I asked in shock, "Why the hell would I do that!"

"Oh you silly!" she motioned coyly, "How else am I supposed to fit you with a new suit?"

"I don't want a new suit!" I nearly shouted, "I like what I am wearing just fine!"

"No, no, no, no; it just won't do darling. Even a Regulator such as yourself needs to look his best once in a while!" she used her magic to take off my duster, which upon closer inspection, was indeed starting to fade in certain spots. "I'm sure your line of work leaves little time to go around window shopping for new getups, but that's no excuse to be sporting such a dreadful piece of clothing! And that armor has quite definitely seen better days! I mean, who modified it? It's way too thin to be bulletproof!" She removed the armor with her magic, spinning me in the air several times before I fell on the ground, leaving me in nothing more than my natural coat of charcoal black.

"Wait, how do you know about armor?" I asked in concern as I eyed the azure-gray pony, "How did you know I was a Regulator? Just who are you?"

"Oh my!" the pony suddenly exclaimed, a look of great shock on her face. "Where are my manners? My name is Rarity Diamant, and I am this town's most prolific fashion designer. I work with it all, including armor. As a matter of fact, most of the orders I get are from rich Canterlot folk who wish to have their suits reinforced with all matter of bulletproof materials."

"Canterlot?" I asked in surprise, "But Canterlot is one of the safest cities in all of Equestria. It's the seat of power for this nation and base of operation for both the Equestrian military and the Regulators. No way are they suffering a rash of crime."

"Haven't you heard?" Rarity asked as she leaned closer to me, "The Cult is becoming bolder in their actions. Many feel the need to increase security." She sighed. "No one is safe from those cultists-" she cut herself off as she shook her hoof in the air with fury. "Scum! Yes, I can't think of a more fitting term for them than the word scum!" she giggled, looking at me with some guilt. "Oh dear me, there I am going off again about the Cult; as if the lack of apple farmers in town wasn't enough to ruffle one's hairs at night." She levitated my duster in the air, carefully inspecting it with an eye for detail that only a fashion designer could posses. "Oh my! This duster, it used to belong to someone else, didn't it darling?"

"Yes…" I said with some awe; this Rarity character, she figured out the duster wasn't mine by just looking at it?

"Let me guess," She said, "It used to belong to a close friend who likely suffered some rather nasty fate at the hands of an unknown assailant. Am I getting close darling?"

"Impossible!" I shouted, ready to swipe the duster out of the air. "How could you have possibly known that by just looking at the duster!"

"Darling, when you have worked with other's clothing for as long as I have, you learn to listen to what every single stitch and thread has to say. Clothes, just like all of us, have stories to tell, voices that only the most highly tuned ears can pick up." She blushed, "Oh yes, this garb has quite a tale behind it; it's seen more than its fare share, and I must say, the tale it sings isn't a very happy one." She turned to face me, smiling with what could have passed for malice, but was better described as a boastful showiness. "Your name is Bogart Maltese, a second lieutenant under Hagar Finn and self appointed detective on a mission to find your partner's killer." She walked up to me, eyes staring right into mine. "You have come all the way down from Manehattan to find a specific pony, either an older filly or young mare that used to be a…" She turned to look back at the duster, examining it before turning to face me again. "Cloud farmer?"

"Rock farmer, actually." I said, deeply impressed at Rarity's deductive skills.

"Curses!" she said in a rather self-bashing manner, "I always get those last few tidbits of information wrong!"

"You got most of it right," I said with a coy smile, "Most impressive miss Rarity, most impressive indeed."

"Thank you detective,'" she said in a playful manner, "But I will not be content until I am able to get every last bit of information correct one hundred percent of the time."

"Hey, ninety-nine percent is still a pretty good. Besides, not many equines have your talents this day and age."

"I know…" Rarity said with some regret, "How dreadful to think that I am among the last to bear this ability. What a world, what a world." She levitated my duster, along with my armor, and smiled. "Anyway," she suddenly said in excitement, "I'm guessing you want to keep this duster as a memento of your fallen partner, yes? Well, no need to say it! I'll clean and repair this duster. I'll make it shine like the sun, just you wait!" She set both my duster and my armor on her table, pulled out a large notepad, and magically dragged several white pony dummies to her side. "In the meantime darling, why don't you go out and start gathering some clues? I'm sure you're just itching to get to work."

"Yeah, I'll do that." I looked at my stuff and wondered if I should take it with me, but then I realized that I had neglected to find an inn at which to stay for the duration of my investigation.

_Bogart, how could you have forgotten one of the most important things?_

I sighed, picked up my bag, and slung it around my back. As I walked towards the exit, Rarity suddenly called back to me; she was already deep into her work.

"Oh darling, you don't need to drag your things around town like some kind of vagrant! Leave them here, they'll be quite secure. I will also have to insist you stay the night as my guest."

"No, I can't impose on you like that; the fact that you are fixing my clothing is already enough."

"Darling, you are staying the night; end of story." Rarity giggled as she went about her work. "Now run along and get to work. The sooner you find this pony, the sooner you can enjoy Ponyville's more luxurious side."

"Fine…" I said with some resentfulness, feeling as if I was being treated like a filly rather than a stallion.

I placed my bag on the floor, taking out a smaller pouch, Negotiator and its holster, and a medium sized notepad with which to write down clues. I looked back at Rarity one more time, and then made my way out of the boutique.

As I walked down the road leading to Rarity's home and shop, I began to feel strange about her attitude. She and I…we were kind of alike. Either fate was playing with me, or...

_No, it couldn't be; it was all a convenient set of coincidences. Yeah, coincidences…_

Then again, in my line of work, coincidences didn't happen too often. Maybe I was over thinking this; it wouldn't be the first time, and more than likely it wouldn't be the last. Still, something about Rarity struck me as odd, and it wasn't because she could deduce personal information by looking at clothing. It was something else, something more meaningful and cryptic…

No matter; I had a job to do. I set my sights on the first pony I saw and walked up to her, notepad levitating near my head, ready to jog down whatever information was given to me.

**]-[]-[]-[]-[**

_I end the thread here, pass it trough that loop over there, oh! Make sure it goes through that little grove there… Just a little more… there! Now just pass it trough those other loops… almost got it… there! Perfection!_ I raised the now fully stitched duster up to the light, smiling with glee at my accomplishment. Sure, it had taken about three hours to finish, and sure, I had gone just a little bit overboard – having added several ceramic pads that now rested around the shoulders and backside of the coat, dyed the duster black after I had found its original coloring was quickly fading, and replaced some of the original cotton lining with Kevlar weave – but it didn't matter to me one bit; this was what I lived for: the art of the dress. I'm sure Bogart will say a thing or two about the color, but once he hears what went into it, he'll be groveling at my feet in gratitude, and I haven't even started on his armor yet! Oh how he'll love me after this is over!

_Now Rarity, keep calm and don't get overly excited before the job is done. The duster took three hours, and that was a simple patch job. The armor is damaged and quite worn out; you'll have to replace almost all its components._

But of course! Bogart deserves armor worthy of his job. He's a Regulator, and he must be well protected if he is to keep everyone else protected. Let's see then, what kind of plating should I use? Something light yet durable, flexible yet robust, warm yet cool…

_Rarity, why are you even thinking about it? Use the mithril ore you found the other day!_

But that would take hours to smelt, and Bogart could be back at any minute!

_But he'll have his duster right? Besides, re-forging his riot gear from the ground up is a good way of making sure he sticks around for a while._

Yes, Bogart is a rather handsome fellow isn't he? He seems a little shy and insecure about himself, but I'm sure he just needs a good friend to ease him into a more sociable lifestyle.

_That's right Rarity. Who knows, he might even end up loving you!_

No, that's impossible!

_Don't think like that Rarity; you of all people should know that the past is the past._

That may be true, but some wounds are just too deep to heal. I promised I would never allow myself to fall in love, and I intend to stick with that , where was I? Oh yes, rebuilding Bogart's riot gear. Let's see now… It's quite lightweight, but it provides almost no defense. It's dirty and quite an eyesore. If it was up to me, I would just toss this in the trash….

Why of course! Bogart only cares about the duster; he never said anything about the armor! I'll toss it away and…

_Give him your own armor?_

I could do that… I mean, I have no further use for it; the war's been over for five years now. But I don't think he'll like it much… I mean, it has Civil Protection's logo on it, and not many people like to remember what they did…

_The past is the past Rarity, you can't live in regret. Sure, you made things that harmed quite a lot of Ponies, but it wasn't like you were given much of a choice in the first place. _

No… I can't let Bogart see that cursed suit; I can't let anypony see that cursed suit.

_You know full-well the suit isn't the cause of your shame. After all, a suit is only a suit; it's the wearer that people hate, and nobody hates you. On the contrary, everyone loves you and your work! You have a promising career that allows you to do what you love! What more can you ask for?_

Absolution…

I sighed, slumping on the table. I could feel tears build up in my eyes. It's true that I had everything a pony could ever want… but the one thing I wanted more than anything else was seemingly unreachable. I stood up and looked at myself in the nearest mirror. Five years ago, I had dedicated myself to forging weapons of war. I hadn't really been a choice, but it did save me from fighting in the front lines. Making weapons had not been that difficult at all, and forging armor was virtually the same as creating dresses, except the materials were a tad more difficult to work with. But overall, working for Civil Protection had netted me and Sweetie Belle recognition and fame.

But all the fame and recognition couldn't change the fact that my weapons had been used to slaughter the innocent while the murderers hid behind my armor. To this day, my reputation still precedes me, one that I am bitterly divided over.

On the one hand, I my name is quite well known in all the upper circles. The rich and influential come to me for protection, and I delivered every single time.

On the other hand, my work carries the stigma of the war. I no longer make weapons, but when I did, they were sought after; the quality of my weapons spoke volumes, more than I could have predicted.

No, I was getting worked up over little trivialities. The past is past. I no longer make weapons, and I hoped to never have to touch my gun smiting tools ever again.

I looked at Bogart's armor and made up my mind. I wouldn't toss it away, I would re-forge it; make it stronger than before. "Yes, I'm Rarity Diamant, the most prolific fashion designer in Ponyville. I have no need to recall the past, only the here and now matters, and I have a job to get done!"

**]-[]-[]-[]-[**

_Well Bogart, it's been about five hours now, and you haven't even filled up a half-page's worth of information. You're getting sloppy, very sloppy._

I sighed as yet another pony finished narrating her life's story to me. This one, a gray pegasus with a blonde mane and a pair of yellow eyes that didn't seem capable of staying put in one place for too long, smiled and waved goodbye. She offered me a muffin, telling me that there was nothing more nutritious than a good muffin. I took the pastry out of politeness and smiled my best. She giggled in happiness as she walked down the road and right into a tree. She shook herself off and decided to fly away instead.

As the pony flew away – Ditzy is what I believe she called herself – the strong urge to scream in frustration suddenly filled me. There was absolutely no way nopony in this town didn't know about an older filly or young mare who had recently moved in, yet everypony seemed to be either feigning ignorance, or genuinely unaware of such an individual.

Maybe I was going about this wrong; maybe I needed to speak to some form of authority figure. Maybe the town guards might know something. The mayor could also prove a valuable source of information, if she wasn't too busy with other matters.

I didn't waste any time. I quickly ran towards the nearest guard, showed him my Regulator badge, and got him to start talking; to my disappointment, he too knew nothing about such a pony. He bid me farewell, walking away as if our conversation never took place.

I looked around, and everypony seemed to be going about their business in a more casual fashion than the norm, as if they didn't care about the dangers just outside their town's borders. It was as if these ponies were living in a different age, one where war had never come to Equestria.

Something about this town didn't strike me as right…these ponies were hiding something, something that I should know…

I was going to find out what, one way or another.


End file.
